Musings
by missmeyet
Summary: I put in a penny, and all this poured out methinks the machine might be busted, but then again, who's complaining? Warning: mild language and or suggestive situations in some chapters.
1. George

George

And now time for my flagship team, SG1. You know, sometimes it amazes me how well those four very disparate people work together – two military, one civilian, one alien. Two scientific minded, two ... not. Two very open and aware of other cultures, having experienced them firsthand, two less so. All four very passionate, but about different things. Yet they gel so well as a team. Instead of allowing their differences to pull them apart, they seem to encourage each others' strengths, and cover each others' weaknesses. Sometimes they look and sound like they are ready to kill each other, yet... at the end of the day, I can't think of a team who functions as well **as a _team_** than those four. When one is wounded, the other three close in – according to the doctor, they take any injury to the team _very_ personally. My number one team reminds me of a family of bickering kids sometimes – **_my_** kids. And I wouldn't have it any other way.


	2. Sam

Sam

My god – argh!

He's just **SO** frustrating sometimes!

I know he's got my back ... and my front grin

But sometimes, I want blood, and he's the most handy!

I know he's my CO, and therefore my military training kicks in, and I **have** to follow his orders, but my inner mind just screams "he's wrong, convince him he's wrong!" ... yet I can't.

Stupid military training.

And then, when I'm at the end of my string with him, and seriously ready to put the chain of command (and probably my future career) in the can, he flashes that stupid grin in my direction, and I can't possibly stay mad. Not for long, anyway.

He even makes his condescending comments about big guns and little tank tops less biting with that stupid flippant show-stopping (or at least my comeback stopping) grin.

Y'know, he reminds me of that bullying kid in elementary school who used to pull my hair.

Momma said it was because he liked me, but was intimidated because I was smarter than him.

Yeah, that's **exactly** who he reminds me of.

Still likes me (at least, according to that stupid Za'tarc incident ... Jan and I are still trying to figure out a plausible "unfortunate accident" to happen in Anise's general direction) ... still very aware that I'm smarter than him, but still ordering me around!

At least my hair is shorter now – although I'm pretty sure if the Col. pulled one of my braids, I would be justified in trying to kick his butt for it – being sexual harassment and all.

Man, where was sexual harassment when I was a kid?

I wonder what ever happened to that cute jerk ... ah well. Back to the cute je- um, person of my initial rant. Stupid... sigh.

Get over it, Carter. 'Cause here he comes, and he's got that ridiculous look on his face that says nothing happened off-world that seriously endangered us, and we've come into downtime, so I'm going fishing, and I'm taking you with me if it kills me. Quick, what have I got cooking in the lab? Think Carter, think! I'll never admit it, but I **hate** fishing. Worms gross me out.


	3. Jack

Jack

I love my team, really I do. But they really need to learn how to de-stress.

I mean, we come into some over-due and well deserved down time, and I can't find a single sane person to join me at my cabin! Who wouldn't want the peacefulness of sitting on the dock, casting out that perpetual line, with a cooler pack of ice and drink of choice, feeling the sun on your shoulders, listening to the birds in the day, the crickets in the evening, the loons at night – well, I didn't say it was a **quiet** vacation! But no cars whizzing by, no death gliders overhead, no diving for cover from hidden enemy Jaffa wielding staff weapons... see, peaceful!

But _MY_ team, hell no!

Carter gets this deer-caught-in-the-headlight look when I approach, and I can tell she's trying to figure out what sounds the most scientifically complicated of what's going on in her lab, so she can techno-babble me to boredom until I leave. Personally, I'm pretty sure it's not my company she's dreading – it's either the damned mosquitos, or maybe she just doesn't like worms. Hmmm.

Daniel is off to some warm climate so he can stick his head into culture again. You'd think he'd have had enough of deserts on Abydos, but apparently not.

And Teal'c ... well, I _did_ manage to get him out to the cabin once. After sounding surprisingly distraught (for him), he used his then defunct cell phone (funny that) to swat mosquitos. No one I'd rather have my six off-world, but not so much fun when there is a severe lacking of action to be had. I definitely need to work on his concept of a fun _peaceful_ way to spend downtime, but I just don't have the energy this time.

Even Doc has plans with the kidlet – I convinced them to come up once grin. Cassie had a blast learning how to fish (now there's a kid who's not squeamish in the least about worms!), and Janet had a blast relaxing with the coolers. And I had someone to share the not-so-silent peace with ... it _does_ get a tad lonely up there. I really need to get a dog. Sigh.


	4. Janet

Janet

It was a typical girls' night out – we did a movie and then grabbed some dinner at a restaurant we hadn't tried yet. Everything was going fine, and then Sam went to freshen up in the ladies' room. And I was able to overhear "the comment." Dun-da-dun. There were two guys sitting not too far away, although currently blocked by some decorative greenery, who had checked us out when we entered – had been pretty obvious about it, actually. But whatever – Sam and I try to look nice when we go out, because, well, why not? Two relatively attractive women – I'm actually getting used to the looks, and even grin at the sighs. It's all in good fun, right?

"Man, they look so fine together, it's like they were made for each other."

"No kidding – what a **hot **couple!"

It was the "couple" that caught me – it wasn't intended as a "couple of girls" or as a "couple of friends" – no, it was blatantly obviously those guys seriously thought Sam and I were a couple, as in romantically involved. Especially considering what came next...

"D'you think we might have a chance, dude?"

"Duh – look at them!"

"Oh believe me, I'm trying – stupid fake plants."

"The plants aren't the only stupid ones here – **look** at them! They've only got eyes for each other..."

moment of silence

"Oh... oh man! Wow -- cool."

Righto, so that hit me like a ton of bricks. Me, and Sam? A couple? I mean, yeah, we do spend a lot of time together, and she always knows how to make me laugh grin. We seem to know what needs to be said to each other, and when coffee or wine or beer (or the occasional back massage) is more needed or will be even more appreciated. We even share a daughter! But that doesn't mean anything, right? Okay, so I made it a rule that we had to glam it up for girls' night out – but that was **not** to see Sam dressed up – just to give me an excuse to wear something other than my uniforms (work or mom-style). And there's no arguing that Sam cleans up **_very_** nicely – not that I'm looking per say, just commenting!

Then there's the fact that she was engaged to Jonas ... wait, how about the fact that I have an ex-husband kicking around too? Now why did I forget about him – oh yeah, because I've been trying to do that for years. Right. But Sam was engaged to Jonas ... very much didn't pan out, but still – and she seems to have that _connection_ with Jack. She's assured me, with the plying of more than a few glasses of wine, that nothing more serious than flirting will ever come of it, but one should be able to assure one's self that that in itself means something. Or something. Why the heck am I even thinking about this? I shouldn't have to defend anything to anyone, let along those two jokers -- we're close friends out for a movie and a bite to eat, and what the heck is wrong with that? shakes head It's just two stupid horny guys shooting off at the mouth, trying to justify why they wouldn't stand a chance with us without losing face. Yeah, that's it.

A strong hand slips onto my back, startling me out of that particular thought pattern, and Sam slides around the table to her chair.

"Penny for your thoughts, Jan?"

Oh shit.


	5. Teal'c

Teal'c

I have found it to be advantageous for the Taur'i to believe that I do not understand any of their customs – a tactic which is apparently not unknown to the Taur'i people themselves. O'Neill, for example, feigns ignorance and disinterest in many situations where he wishes his opponent to underestimate him. I believe, therefore, that this is an acceptable tactical manoeuver. I do not withhold information which has been requested by my friends and allies, of course, however it is mildly amusing to observe their verbal acrobatic scramblings while attempting to explain things I most likely would have been successful in surmising on my own. That being said, there are still a few activities in which the Taur'i seemingly willingly partake, the meaning of which continue to elude me. I have decided in my downtime to conquer these mysteries, if possible.

O'Neill has introduced me to a few activities which now top my list of inexplicable Taur'i behaviour patterns. I have chosen to explore the "game", as the Taur'i refer to it, of golf. Many Taur'i games I am readily able to determine the value of – strenuous physical activity, working as a cooperative team, improving general accuracy/strength/endurance, sharpening one's skills in observance of surroundings, mastering tactical strategies, and learning to read one's opponent's body language in order to interpret their intentions. To my mind, these are all admirable goals to spend one's time "having fun". To the best of my abilities, however, I am unable to determine how golf fits well into any of the above categories. It is a game without active opponents, where you use a metal stick to propel a white dimpled ball towards a hole marked by a brightly-coloured flag. Though it seems preferable to engage in these activities with either a partner or in a "foursome", you can neither help nor hinder the progress of your companions. Neither the ball nor the flag alter their positions without your direct individual effort, and the stance which O'Neill attempted to demonstrate to me leaves you completely open to attack from every direction barring directly beneath you. The physical activity required is minimal, especially during "driving" practice, as O'Neill once kindly demonstrated using the Stargate. I had thought it perhaps a group relaxation activity, but the other players seemed to increase their tension as the play progressed. I have heard a Taur'i verbal expression which indicated that this activity was an excellent cover for presumably illicit agreements, however whenever I attempted to open discussions with O'Neill, he became increasingly distraught over his "backswing". Apparently the mastery of this particular physical manoeuver is of extreme importance, although I have yet to uncover what the significance of this movement is for any other practical application.

I have ruminated on this exercise for much time now, and though it has puzzled me greatly, I believe that I have come to a viable conclusion. Akin to the activity of fishing, of which O'Neill is also quite fond, the underlying purpose of the game of golf must be none other than to strengthen one's patience. Yes, I deem this to be acceptably sound reasoning.

Next on the list: "reality television" ...


	6. Daniel

Daniel

Stupid Marines in the locker room again. At least this time they acknowledged my presence – and my relationship with my team, showing the decency to cease their discussion of that hottie Major Carter. "Now if only she wasn't such a nerd..." still rings through my ears. I would tell Sam, except that I know that the Marine team of muscle-bound goons is currently needed for a rescue mission on PSX-335 ... and they'd be in no shape to be rescuing anyone once Sam got through with them. I've heard other comments too ... about Sam and Jack (yeah right – they'd kill each other first!), Sam and Teal'c (snort), Sam and I (puh-lease – ew! That'd be like kissing my sister, if I actually had one), even Sam and Janet! (Now there's an intriguing mental image, but highly doubtful beyond the wishful thinking of guys with so much muscle on their body that it deters a regular route for the blood flow to their brains!) The rumour that always strikes home though, is not actually a rumour at all, but a nickname: The Black Widow of the SGC. Okay, so Sam has had really bad luck in romantic relationships over the last couple of years ... not that she actively initiated some of them, but guys she hooks up with do seem to have a nasty propensity for ending up dead. Coincidence, I'm sure.

It's not like Sam's failed romantic history is any worse, albeit larger, than my own, for example. Look at my family – my parents were killed and I bounced from one state-sanctioned hell-hole to another until I found a legitimate way out through school. My only living relative refused to take me on, and is now living with giant alien beings. I had to go to another galaxy to get married, and that was a cultural misunderstanding. My wife and brother-in-law are subsequently kidnapped and blended by force with Goa'ulds. My wife reappears carrying another man's son, and tries to kill me before my friend kills her. I'm then charged with the task of finding this boy, and when I finally do, I have to give him up again. Once he finds me again, he has me dream that I effectively took over Earth and destroyed all of my friends ... gotta love that one. And I seem to have this disconcerting attraction for alien females ... Shyla -- who addicts me to the Sarcophagus while my friends toil to death in her mines, Ke'ra -- a.k.a. Linea, The Destroyer of Worlds, Anise (or was that Freya?) -- who came this close to lobotomising my best friend, and the Queen Hathor immediately pop into mind (shudder). Oh wait, even Sha're was technically an alien, so I guess that's not _all_ bad, but still! Not a great track record there...

So if Sam's the Black Widow, what must they be saying about me? Even my _human_ ex-girlfriends aren't safe from Goa'ulds ... I mean, Sarah is now Osiris – I'm getting **_really_** tired of Goa'ulds taking over the women from my past and them then trying to kill me and my friends! For once, I can honestly say that I'm glad that I have a rather limited romantic history with women! I'm not sure how many more times I can handle the sight of an ex with glowing eyes and a funky voice attempting to kill me ... it does start to wear a man down, after a while! Sigh... At this point, even if I did get to the point of admitting feelings deeper than friendship to anyone, I think – no, I **_know_** that I'd be afraid to, for both of our sakes. I swear, sometimes I feel like the Goa'ulds have attached some kind of sick homing/tracking device to my heart – as soon as I love someone, they must go away, and try to take me out in the process. Maybe I can find a planet out there somewhere, where the snakes have never been ... or fall in love with a non-blendable species ... or course, then they'd just kill them. At least Sam's disastrous affairs end of their own volition ... mind just keep getting snaked.


	7. Jonas

Jonas

The new kid in town.  
Yep, I guess I fit that bill.

All I'm trying to do is fit in, to atone for my earlier mistakes, but I don't think they'll ever come around.  
They look at me, and they see Daniel, lying on his deathbed.

It wasn't my fault, dammit!

But it did happen on my planet, in our labs, with our Naquadria.  
I should have been the one to stop the explosion.  
It was my planet, my people.  
My fear.

I'll never replace Daniel.  
I can't.  
Even if they would let me. Not that they will.

I can only hope that one day they will allow themselves to use me as a member of their team in this program, that they take me as the tool that I can be. I know things they don't. I look at things differently. Sometimes a fresh set of eyes is all the problem needs to crack. The doctor says I'm wired a little differently, though I look the same. I must be good for something other than an emotional punching bag!

Then again, maybe that's what they need the most right now.

Alright then. Go ahead.  
Yell at me, throw accusing looks in my direction.  
Blame me, if it'll make you feel better.  
It won't bring him back, but it might bring you back to yourself.

And if that's what is most needed, then that'll be my role here.

Because I need to do something right – to be something worthy.  
I need someone to trust me, to need me.

I need to be given another chance, to prove myself.

Because I dream of that day, of hearing the alarms, of seeing the danger, of knowing what needed to be done, of my inability to move. I dream of Daniel rescuing my people, my planet. Of selflessly accomplishing what I couldn't bring myself to do.  
I was selfish, and as a result they lost him.

Why can't anyone believe me?

I miss Daniel too – I miss what he represented. It should have been me.

Daniel took my place, and now I must take his.  
It's a simple as that.  
Now if only I could make them see it that way. If only I could make them trust me.

I'm so sorry...


	8. Walter

Walter

I wonder how long it took the flagship team to realise they were the front-men (and woman ... and alien) of a larger machine. How long before they realised there were other teams, not to mention other personnel who helped to make the SGC operate as smoothly as it did.

I know it took them a long time before I was referred to by my first name. I don't think they even considered the fact that I might have one. Who am I, in their script of life? I can picture it now:

Technician 1: Chevron one, encoded.

—insert "important" stuff here—

Technician 1: Chevron seven, locked!

Wheels in a cog, sure, I can handle that. We all have our place in this life, and they can't all be to lead missions to other galaxies.

It'd just be nice though, once in a while, to hear a friendly "Hi Walter" in the elevator, y'know?


End file.
